


And time itself unwind

by sarahcakes613



Series: The Cohen Files [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Doombots, Light Angst, M/M, Nightmares, Shower Sex, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 11:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14080251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahcakes613/pseuds/sarahcakes613
Summary: Bucky has nightmares, and Clint comes up with a few ways to help him cope.





	And time itself unwind

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when you have two disparate plot bunnies and they insist on being in the same story. 
> 
> My eternal thanks to Bex and Kim for help and patience while I lusted over Seb Stan and Jeremy Renner.

_The club, the wheel, the mind,_  
_O love, aren't you tired yet?_

The Faith - Leonard Cohen

 

Bucky wakes up screaming every night, and the doctors proclaim him healed.

Clint wants to say something, wants to let him know – he isn’t the only one. But how does two weeks under the spell of a god compare to a half-century of conditioning? Would his commiseration be welcome, or seem like a joke to Bucky? Their bedrooms share a wall, but that’s hardly enough to warrant sharing personal information, right?

It’s worse when they’ve been out fighting. Everyone hears it and no one wants to admit it, not even Steve, who clenches his jaw so tight Clint will swear he’s heard a tooth crack at least once.

On those nights, there is no peace. Natasha does what she can, crooning half remembered Russian lullabies, and sometimes it is enough to turn the screams to whimpers.

It goes on like this for six months. Tony thinks Barnes should be benched from their sorties, argues that he can be just as effective as ground control. For all that he has adapted to the mores of modern society, Steve is still a man out of time, and he insists Bucky just needs to work through it. Leaving him behind would be punishment, and hasn’t Bucky been punished enough?

Clint thinks Tony is right, but no one’s asked him. Barnes sees things the way he does, with a sniper’s precision. He could be invaluable in a room full of cameras, watching their collective six. Not to mention, being tucked away from the noise and the chaos would probably be good for his brain, still settling down after years of painful stimuli. It seems to him like no one has asked Barnes what he wants, and Clint remembers that all too well. After Loki, after the spear – decisions continued to be made for him, where he fought, and when, which battles he was good for and which he wasn’t. Fury lets Steve take the lead on making the calls for Bucky, and as far as the good captain is concerned, Buck is good for all of them.

He doesn’t see how wrong he is until an AIM ambush goes horribly, terribly wrong. They have some sort of sonar weapon, and it doesn’t just scramble their comms, it scrambles the healing neurons in Bucky’s brain. He is always silent after a battle, so no one realises anything is different until they are back at the Tower and Steve claps a friendly hand on Bucky’s back. It ends with Steve flat on the ground, a metal arm pressed against his throat.

Dr. Banner comes up behind him, cheetah-quick and panther-quiet, and Bucky goes down, a Hulk-tranq stuck in his thigh.

Steve is stubborn though, and even as the red on his throat fades to pink, he is arguing that this isn’t as bad as they all think. Clint’s had just about enough, is about to finally say something, when Natasha speaks up.

“It’s okay to say you don’t know what you’re doing, Steve.”

Steve pauses mid-speech, looking alarmed, and she continues.

“I’ve been there,” she nods at Clint, “and so has he. You haven’t. You haven’t had your brain pulled out and something else stuffed in. You’ve never been unmade.” Clint flinches, remembering the last time those words were spoken. Cap flinches too, and his chest deflates a little as he sinks into his chair. After all this time fighting together, it’s easy to forget that Steve is still just a kid in so many ways.

“Steve,” her voice is gentle now. “We all want what is best for James, but we also need what is best for the team. I’m probably not going to say this ever again, but I think Tony is right.”

If the situation weren’t so serious, Clint would be laughing at the expression on Tony’s face. He so clearly wants to cheer, wants to lord over the concept of Black Widow agreeing with him on anything, but he knows this isn’t the time or place. He settles for a quiet “hurrah” and fist pump, which quickly turns into a hand running through his hair when Steve turns toward him.

Bruce clears his throat softly and stands up from where he’d been kneeling over Bucky, monitoring his vitals.

“I can tell you right now this isn’t going to be a one-off. Barnes is running on fumes. He isn’t sleeping, and he needs significantly more downtime than our unpredictable schedule really allows. He’s not an effective part of the team in this state, Cap. You need to make the call.”

Steve hunches over the table, hands crossed and cupping his elbows. He looks like he’s physically trying to hold himself together. He nods once, a jerky twitch more than anything, but it’s enough. Tony’s got his earpiece on and he’s already making the call to SHIELD.

It’s never as easy as that, though. Fury doesn’t object to Barnes remaining behind, but he refuses to let it happen without the supervision of someone else on the team. Barnes is too unpredictable, he says, and the other Avengers are the closest anyone’s come to gaining his trust and who might be able to talk him down if something goes wrong while he is monitoring their movements from ground control.

Even Cap knows he can’t be the one to stay behind with Barnes. Natasha is the next obvious choice, except that her skillset makes her uniquely qualified to go behind the scenes with a number of their enemies and leaving her behind puts the team at risk for blown covers. Clint surprises everyone, most of all himself, when he offers to give it a go. A trial basis, he hastens to add, because he and Barnes haven’t spent a whole lot of time together outside battles and debriefs, and who knows how they’ll handle an enclosed room of televisions for hours at a time.

The news of his change in status doesn’t seem to surprise Barnes, doesn’t seem to phase him in the least. If anything, he seems almost relieved. They get the opportunity to test out the new plan in real time soon enough when an army of Doombots attempt to take control of the MTA headquarters in Brooklyn.

Bucky cracks a rare smile as the team gears up, even ribs Steve about not doing anything stupid out there. They’re patched in through Tony’s suit, and so they have a bird’s eye view of the scene. Bucky’s energy stays up throughout the beginning of the skirmish, and he occasionally pauses to point out a bit of familiar scenery to Clint. Things are going well, and Clint’s beginning to think this might actually work out when Tony’s suit suddenly takes a direct hit and the cameras on his suit go dark. The comms are still open, but not being able to see what’s happening makes their job near impossible, and Barnes is veering closer and closer to the edge of panic. JARVIS has things patched and back up within minutes, but Clint can tell the damage is done. Barnes is tense now, hyper-focused on the screens. The skirmish slowly turns into more of a scuffle, and soon enough it is over, the Doombots disabled and handed over to SHIELD for whatever it is they do with confused robots.

Job at hand complete, Barnes is out the door and up to the helipad in under a minute. He’s still tense, rocking back and forth slightly as he waits for the quinjet to land. When it finally does, he stops rocking, and Clint realises that what he’s been interpreting as a tense ledge on which Bucky’s sanity is teetering is actually just the strained panic of a man who’s worried about – well, whatever Steve is to him. Clint doesn’t really know what their situation is, and it hasn’t seemed prudent to ask. The point, his mind helpfully reminds him, is that until Bucky sees for himself that Steve is alright, he will remain a taut bowstring of a man.

Steve is last off the jet, and Bucky rushes to him, hands patting Steve all over, checking to see if any of his wounds are proving too deep for the serum to heal. Steve huffs a laugh, throws an arm around Bucky and leads him back inside. Clint remains outside, not wanting to intrude on this private moment. He is priding himself on this selfless act when Natasha comes up next to him and tucks herself under his arm.

He hears a muffled “wake me up when there’s pancakes” from somewhere in the vicinity of his armpit. Clint knows Natasha really means “I’m so over these goddamn Doombots and I still need to write yet another goddamn report about them.” He grins and guides them both back into the penthouse, where Bucky has stopped inspecting Steve and is now haranguing Tony while preparing what looks like a salad, except he’s pouring it all into a blender. Steve watches Bucky with a dopey smile on his face, and Clint wonders if this is the most normal Bucky’s been since he was returned to them. Possibly-normal Bucky seems an awful lot like regular Bucky, the real proof will be when night comes and the screaming starts – or doesn’t. Clint fervently hopes for doesn’t.

Clint really needs to stop hoping for anything, because it sends a screaming neon beacon out into the universe. A contrary beacon that tells the universe to do the opposite of whatever Clint asks for. He wasn’t out there in the melee but staring at those screens is hard on his eyes and Clint is tired, so he doesn’t fully process what he’s hearing right away. It’s not screaming, nor is it whimpering. It’s a guttural sobbing, a slow keening as Bucky claws his way through – a nightmare? A memory? He’s whispering Steve’s name, and Clint thinks this must be a war flashback. He’s uncomfortable with sense of relief he feels at this notion. He can handle war flashbacks. Based on how close Bucky’s sounds are, Clint’s pretty sure they both have their beds up against the shared wall, and he sits up in his and starts tapping on the wall.

His Morse is rusty, but muscle memory kicks in and he starts telling Bucky a story about the time he accidentally started a gang war over pizza toppings. The keening turns to a soft crying and then hiccups as Bucky calms down. Bucky starts tapping back, and Clint has to focus to sort out his response.

“R U FOR REAL.”

Grinning, Clint calls out his response. “You bet your cute ass I am! Pineapple on pizza’s a goddamn travesty, and those guys had it coming!” The hiccups become choked laughter and Clint’s chest swells at the feeling that he was able to calm Bucky down, even if it was just a bad dream and not a full-on Winter Soldier freakout, and now isn’t that interesting, the universe says, because we _had_ noticed how cute Bucky’s ass was, and now we’re proud of eliciting a positive response from him, and had we thought about asking Natasha what James “Bucky” Barnes really thought about us? “Aww, universe, no.” Clint mumbles, flopping back down onto his pillow.

Slowly, so very slowly, Bucky makes progress. He remains grounded, and Clint alternates supervising with Bruce, depending on the delicacy of the situation at hand. The screaming tapers off to a few nights a week, then half a dozen times a month, and then two months go by and Bucky still doesn’t sleep through the night, but it’s down to nothing more than what Clint thinks of as “old fashioned bad dreams” because of friggin’ course normal run-of-the-mill nightmares are an exciting and rare animal in their line of work. Clint is usually able to resolve these events himself, between Morse code stories and the Russian lullabies he has taught himself from YouTube, _shut up Natasha, I’m doing this for a friend and it means nothing._ She acquiesces, though he can hear her comment under her breath, “you never learned Russian lullabies for me”, and Clint refuses to think too closely about what the differences might be between his feelings for her and Bucky.

The goddamn Doombots are back, and they’ve converged on Tony in his suit, focusing all their efforts on keeping him down and without power. Bruce is with Bucky this time, and Clint taps in to his comms unit to take over eye-in-the-sky duties. Bruce sounds calm, but his words have a clipped tone as he relays what Clint is seeing and Bucky’s responses. Much excitement abounds when it becomes apparent that one of the Doombots is Doom himself, and with him in hand the bots fall back into a standing formation, which is creepy, but allows the team to power them down and wrap things up neatly. Doom is delivered to the UN for his usual slap on the wrist and Clint directs the jet back to the Tower as Steve and Nat help - by way of numerous can-opener jokes - Tony climb out of his powerless suit.

He can see Bucky and Bruce waiting on the helipad, and even from the pilot’s seat 100 feet out, Clint can see the way Bucky is holding himself together. It’s that same nervous energy he saw the first time he and Bucky had operated as ground control. Clint calls out to Steve to warn him of the impending handsy inspection Bucky will be performing on him, and as he guides the quinjet down to land, Steve prepares to be first out this time, to reassure Bucky that all is well as soon as possible. Clint runs through a routine shutdown before finally exiting the jet last, and he’s surprised to see Bucky still there, Steve off to his side, brow furrowed in confusion.

Clint tilts his head at Steve and gets a shrug of shoulders in response. “I told him you were fine, you were above most of the action, but he needed to see for himself.”

Only it seems that Bucky is not to content to see, because now it’s Clint who is standing there with hands running over his arms and torso, Clint who is the object of Bucky’s worried gaze. This is brand new information, and Clint isn’t sure if it’s him or Cap who’s more bewildered. Natasha, that pesky wench, is the only other person still outside, and she’s grinning with way more teeth than Clint is comfortable with.

Clint raises an arm to awkwardly pat Bucky on the shoulder. “Hey, hey man, I’m okay, I’m good. None of them even got near me. I mean, I think I maybe pulled a muscle from recoil, maybe I went too tight when I was restringing my bow, but really, I’m okay, so uh, you can stop the pat down?” He didn’t mean to phrase it as a question, but Bucky listens to him, and withdraws, arms tucked around himself again.

Clint’s never been good with feelings _stop fucking grinning like that Natasha_ , so he ducks his chin and steps around Bucky to head inside. If he pauses in his step when he hears Steve’s whispered “what the hell, Buck?”, well, he’s pretty sure no one noticed.

A debrief and dinner of nuked leftovers later (listen, Pepper is not just the brain behind the brain of SI, she also a makes a righteous baked mac), Clint’s shoulder is aching in a blatant “yes, you did indeed restring your bow too tight and it hurts, you asshole” way. He really wants nothing more than to just leave his gear in a pile on the floor and flop into bed face-first but hanging out on rooftops has a way of making one feel like they’re coated in a fine layer of grime, and he knows if he doesn’t shower first, he’s going to regret it as soon as he regains consciousness in the morning. He still leaves his gear in a pile on the floor, deciding that’s a problem for tomorrow-Clint. He yawns his way into his bathroom, and he can hear Bucky in the next suite, going through his own evening routine. He’s not surprised that he can hear it, the shared wall extends through this part of the suite as well, but it’s the first time their routines have synced in this manner.

It seems a bit silly, mundane, to think as he soaps up, this is what Bucky is doing right now too. Does Bucky use basic white soap, or does he go in for the fancy scented stuff? And why the hell is Clint thinking about Bucky soaping up his body? His body, muscles and power and seriously Clint, what even? He shakes his head, trying to dislodge the images in his mind, focuses instead on shampooing his hair without getting any in his eyes. Through the spray of the water, he hears a muffled thump in the other bathroom, followed by the quiet murmur of Bucky talking to himself in Russian. He stills, waiting, trying to make out distinct words he knows, but the only sounds now are running water and heavy breathing. He steps closer to the wall, and the sounds clarify now, and there is an added sound of flesh on flesh and the murmurs have faded into a low moan. Clint reels back from the wall so fast his foot slips and now he’s the one going thump, and he is on the floor with the shower curtain wrapped around him. He is vaguely aware of the other shower being turned off and less than a minute later, he looks up to see Bucky looming over him, towel slung low around his hips and worry in his eyes.

“Shit, fuck, Clint, are you okay?” Bucky leans down, offers his cybernetic hand to Clint. Clint grasps it and okay, wow, Bucky’s just picked him up like he weighs nothing. Clint swallows hard, because look, it’s not that he likes being thrown around or anything, but that arm is a power all to itself and so what if Clint maybe wants to be on the receiving end of that power, whatever. He’s suddenly acutely aware of how big Bucky is, or of how small his bathroom is, or both of those things at once, and he feels like his skin has become too tight and he finds himself wishing now that he had some shampoo in his eyes, if only for the distraction. He’s still holding Bucky’s hand and he lets go, but Bucky tightens his fingers around Clint’s wrist, and brings his other hand to tilt Clint’s chin up so they are looking each other in the eye.

Clint drops his gaze down to Bucky’s torso, eyes riveted to a single drop of water moving lazily through the hair on Bucky’s chest. He darts his tongue out almost by reflex, licking his lips as he swallows hard again. He looks back up at Bucky, but Bucky’s eyes are focused on Clint’s lips, and Clint mentally pats himself on the back when his voice doesn’t crack as he says “so, um, I think this shower’s probably big enough for two- “

Bucky moves so fast Clint’s not really sure what’s happened but now they are both in his shower, and Bucky’s towel is gone, and his arms are braced against the wall, bracketing Clint so he is stuck between a wall and a hard set of abs. Not that he minds, his mind points out. The water has been running the entire time, and it’s started to pool around their feet. Clint opens his mouth to make an inane comment, something about double the risk of slipping, but there is Bucky’s face, Bucky’s mouth, Bucky’s _lips_ and they are catching his and they are kissing now and he never wants to say anything ever again, never wants to use his mouth for anything but this, because it is perfect. Bucky’s lips on his feels likes finding the perfect puzzle piece after too long spent trying to make the wrong one fit, like an answer to a question he didn’t know he was asking. Bucky kisses with his whole body, pressing into Clint, one hand at the back of Clint’s neck and the other on his hip, thumb swiping lightly against his hipbone.

Clint pulls Bucky in, one arm around Bucky’s waist and the other flat against the wall, the tile sliding under his palm the only point of cool to contrast the heat rising throughout his body. He lets the hand at Bucky’s waist drift to caress the small of his back, fingers caressing his buttocks, his fingers sliding down the curve and back up along his cleft. Clint sucks on Bucky’s lower lip, nibbling it lightly, and is rewarded with Bucky hissing into his mouth, the loose grip he has on Clint’s hip growing firmer. Clint still doesn’t really know what’s happening, but he likes the thought of waking up tomorrow with a hand shaped bruise, a tangible bit of proof that this happened, he hasn’t imagined it.

The heat is building up in Clint, every point of contact between him and Bucky is a point of flame licking at his skin. His brain is a running commentary of “oh god naked we’re naked he’s naked this is amazing” and he doesn’t even care enough to try and shut it off, because for once his brain is right, this is amazing. His cock has jumped from half-masted interest to fully hard and when it makes contact with Bucky’s own arousal, his brain very nearly shorts out at the jolt of electricity that runs through his body. He thrusts against Bucky, groaning into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky responds by drawing away from the kiss, dragging his tongue along Clint’s jawline and down his neck, alternating between closed-mouth kisses and gentle nips, teeth barely grazing Clint’s skin.

“Oh, fuck yes, right there, make me feel it.” Clint babbles when Bucky lands on a pressure-point just above his collarbone.

“Like this?” Bucky murmurs back, biting down and sucking hard, sealing his mouth against Clint’s skin.

They stay like this, rocking into each other, exploring with tongues and hands simultaneously, and Clint’s skin feels tight, he is so overwhelmed by the waves of sensation. It’s frenetic, it’s frantic, it’s too fucking much. The cool tile slick under his palm, the scorching heat of the water, the rasp of Bucky’s stubble against his face, Bucky’s cybernetic hand gripping the hair at the base of his neck, his other hand pressing against Clint’s skin, all of these are enough to make Clint feel like he’s about to go supernova and explode into a burst of pure energy. He wants, he wants, he wants. He doesn’t know what he wants. He wants to pour himself into Bucky, wants Bucky in every way imaginable at once, he _wants_.

The hand at his neck tugs ever so gently on his hair and Clint whimpers, rocking his hips against Bucky’s and grinding himself against Bucky’s thigh. Bucky tilts Clint’s chin up, looking him in the eyes. Clint is sure his own eyes are as hazy as Bucky’s right now, Bucky’s pupils blown so his eyes are more black than grey, and Clint almost can’t take it, he shuts his eyes and throws his head back and he is coming harder than ever before, lost in the feelings but aware enough of how fucking good this is. When the aftershocks finally subside, he realises Bucky is still rock-hard, his cock throbbing against Clint’s thigh.

Clint trails his hand along Bucky’s hip, skimming over his stomach, down to his cock, and he is rewarded with a wordless moan from Bucky when he curls his hand around it. Clint’s always laughed at the writing in dimestore bodice rippers, but now he feels like he’s living in one, because Bucky’s cock really is hot and heavy in his hand, he is not terrifyingly huge, which is a relief, but he is thick, and Clint knows what he wants. He wants to feel that thickness filling his mouth, wants to taste that bead of precum on his tongue, he wants to make Bucky feel so good his mind has no space for any other thoughts but the feeling of Clint’s mouth on his skin.

He keeps his eyes on Bucky’s as he slowly slides his body down until he is kneeling, looking up at Bucky through half-lidded eyes. Bucky is staring at him, mouth slightly open, tongue darting out to lick his lips as he watches Clint. Clint leans forward, puts a hand on Bucky’s thigh. Clint does his best to maintain eye contact as he leans further in and licks lightly at the tip of Bucky’s cock. Bucky gasps, his hand coming down to grip Clint’s shoulder. His cybernetic hand opens and closes on nothing, metal plates shifting like flexing muscles. Clint doesn’t know how, doesn’t have the words to tell him that he doesn’t need to hold back, so he takes Bucky’s metal hand in his own, returns it to the back of his neck. Bucky understands, and he pulls slightly at Clint’s hair in acknowledgement. Clint grins (a cocky grin, his mind helpfully supplies), and he leans back on his heels to fully look at Bucky. Bucky’s breathing is rapid, his eyes focused intently on Clint.

“Clint, fuck, please!” Bucky pants. His cock is pulsating in Clint’s hand, flushed red and leaking precum.

Clint’s smile turns into a smirk. “I’ve got you, Buck, I’m going to make you feel so good.”

“Promises, promises” Bucky manages to huff out, but is cut short when Clint leans back in, nuzzling at Bucky’s groin. Clint is tempted to draw this out, tease Bucky to the edge and back, but this close, even underneath the water, he is surrounded by a musky scent that draws him in and he gives in to it, finally opening his mouth and sliding it over Bucky’s cock. He moves slowly, savouring the salt of Bucky’s skin, until he has as much as he can take. He wraps his hand tightly around the remaining inches, and breathing deeply through his nose, he begins to suck in earnest. He is awash again in sensations, and he can feel his own cock stirring in response. The spray of the shower is hitting Clint’s lower back, pounding away at the last vestiges of soreness, and he has to close his eyes, shutting out one sense before they all overwhelm him.

Bucky is careful, tugging at Clint’s hair without trying to entirely direct his movements, and Clint can feel the muscles flexing in Bucky’s thigh as Bucky tries to hold himself up. Clint moves off Bucky long enough to maneuver them both so Bucky is leaning back against the wall under the showerhead and then goes back for another taste. This is another thing the dimestore novels got right, Bucky tastes of salt, the kind of taste Clint might catch on his tongue after a particularly sweaty workout. The precum has a slightly bitter tang to it, but Clint wants more, and he focuses his attention there, suckling at the head of Bucky’s cock, working his hand up and down the shaft. He knows what he likes, so he does that, trusting Bucky will let him know if he doesn’t like something. Bucky seems to like everything, his breathing is heavier now, and his hips are starting to thrust of their own volition. Clint pushes back on Bucky’s hip, holding him against the wall.

It’s messy, Clint can feel his mouth watering, saliva slicking the way as Clint relaxes his throat, pushing past his gag reflex, taking Bucky’s entire length down his throat. Bucky is keening now, and Clint distantly hears a crack as Bucky’s clenched fist makes contact with the tiles. Bucky has a hand in his hair again, is pushing Clint down and pulling him back, and Clint lets him take over, lets Bucky fuck his mouth until he is climaxing, hot and bitter down Clint’s throat. The super soldier isn’t just gifted with more stamina, but more everything, and Clint swallows reflexively, tongue working faster, desperate not to miss a single drop. He is losing control now, and he has one hand working at his own cock, and as Bucky finally gasps out one last shuddering moan, Clint comes again, white-hot and electric.

The water has not shifted in temperature or pressure, but to Clint’s over-sensitised body it feels like the buzz and heat of a tattoo gun, and he reaches behind Bucky to shut off the taps. He uses Bucky’s thigh to pull himself to standing, because hell, if you can’t use a guy’s body for counterbalance after sex, when can you? Bucky’s arm is flexing again, and he chews at his lip tentatively. It is Clint’s turn to tilt Bucky’s chin down, so they are eye to eye. He can see in a wariness in the other man’s eyes, and he makes the executive decision that talking and feelings can wait until morning. After coffee. And breakfast. And maybe lunch also. Really, why do they need to talk about feelings at all?

“Come on soldier, what say we get to bed? I’ve had a hell of a day and I could use some shut-eye.” Clint murmurs. Bucky nods, opens his mouth but closes it again before saying anything. They towel off silently and Clint tosses Bucky a spare set of pyjama pants. Bucky holds them to his chest, a confused expression on his face.

“You want me to stay?” Bucky whispers so quietly, Clint only catches the last two words, but he hears the question in Bucky’s voice. Aw, feelings, no, his mind says.

“Yeah, Buck, I want you to stay” is what his voice says.

Bucky sleeps through the night, and with Clint curled around him, every night after.

 

(and if Bucky wakes up screaming, it’s only because Clint’s decided to wake him up with a blowjob.)

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to add that unlike Clint, I am team pineapple on pizza, so pls don't come at me.


End file.
